


Is This Really Happening?

by Blue_Finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Season Finale, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 01:38:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7294303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Finch/pseuds/Blue_Finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John doesn't die.<br/>TM uses Samaritan's own tactics to defeat it<br/>The numbers never stop coming</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is This Really Happening?

**Author's Note:**

> John saves Harold, he dies happy....or does he really?
> 
> I mention the Kevlar vest which another author pointed to, why wasn't John wearing one going into armed battle?
> 
> John is wearing one is this fic.
> 
> Beta Read by Managerie

Reese felt the flurry of bullets hit his vest as the three Samaritan operatives still left standing fired in unison to finish off their target. The Kevlar vest he wore was constructed to withstand armor piercing rounds. Harold had equipped Reese with nothing but the best after John was shot on that rooftop by his former CIA handler, Agent Snow; to survive the all too frequent gunfire involved in saving the Numbers or stopping the perpetrators; later after surviving Kara Stanton’s bomb vest and their feelings for each other had become clear, it was to bring the man Harold loved back safe to him. Up until this moment the vest had done its job.

Unfortunately even the best could only withstand the armor piercing rounds hailing from the weapons Samaritan had supplied its agents with that they aimed at Reese for so long. This was it; the pain John felt in his heart at the finality of it all — never being with, seeing, touching, or loving Finch again  — was more excruciating than the fires beginning to burn in his gut from the rounds that tore through the Kevlar and lodged themselves there.

John **_was_ ** ready to die for Harold. Finch had to live; the world needed a man like him. There was no one else like Harold, yet, there were always trained killers ready to take Reese's place in the world. Through the purpose Harold had given him, Finch had helped Reese regain some of the humanity the CIA had trained out of him by exploiting John’s need to be a hero, to help people — only John had never believed he could do enough to make up for the bad deeds he had been duped into performing.

John leaned his head against the wall smiling up at the now blue sky overhead, the agony in his heart and body becoming background noise to the feeling of warmth and peace that began filling him. It replaced the pain John felt at never seeing Harold again, knowing that Finch would live, find happiness living a normal life that Harold had never known before. Harold Finch had saved the world, little that it would ever know or thank him for it, and John Reese had saved him.

“I came to realize that saving one life, if it’s the right life, that's enough.” John had said those words to Harold to say how much he loved Harold and all that he had done for him. As John closed his eyes ready for death to claim him, in his last seconds of life he believed he wasn’t that monster anymore. _Now I have done enough_.

Reese hadn’t understood how anyone knew that in the last seconds before death your life flashed before your eyes. John tried to smile, but couldn’t; now he kind of did understand. Maybe it wasn’t your whole life, John thought, but maybe the parts of your life when you were happiest — some good from your life that you can take with you in death.

Behind closed eyelids he remembered sitting close with knees touching in a dark theater as a movie with subtitles played up on the screen while it rained outside, early morning breakfasts or late night meals at various NYC diners, giving their dog a bath, green tea and donuts with sprinkles on top, evenings in The Library with John cleaning one of his many guns or even reading accompanied by the sound of clicking keys as Harold worked at his computer.

John opened his eyes at the sound of the missile’s approach hardly believing he was still hearing the clickety-clack of Harold’s keyboard. Then everything went a fluttering white.

 

_In a light blue nearly off white tiled room filled with various medical monitors and two beds, a woman in a lab coat entered data into a laptop computer mounted on a rolling stand. The soft click-click as she typed reverberated in the otherwise silent room until she spoke seemingly to herself as there was no one else around except for the two unconscious men lying in their separate beds, “Should I bring him out of the simulation sequence?”_

_“Yes.”A computerized voice came through the earpiece the woman wore in her ear, “Slowly. Keep him sedated though. He believes he has been in a firefight, a suicide mission saving the life of the man in the other bed. He might wake up still trying to fight. I don’t want to risk your life unnecessarily Dr. Broderick. You may bring Harold out of his simulation sequence too, but continue keeping him totally sedated for the next four hours and give him all the pain medications that he requires.”_

_The doctor emptied two syringes into the IV drip running into the tall dark haired man’s wrist. “He should regain consciousness in about ten minutes.”_

_The computer spoke to her again, “How is your other patient?”_

_“He is doing exceptionally well, considering he is being subjected to his own simulation sequence only hours after having major surgery for a gunshot wound. Lucky for him the bullet lodged in his rib cage without penetrating it_ _or c_ _ontinuing on to hit any vital organs.” Again the doctor entered data into her laptop, then injected five syringes into the IV drip running into the arm of the other bed's occupant, a small man with brown hair.”_

_Dr. Broderick was sure she was just imagining the worry, regret, the desperation, and love? she thought she heard as the AI spoke again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you more than you had already surmised about my being an artificial intelligence when I enlisted your help with your dream sequence protocols and offered my assistance in solving some of the problems you had encountered that barred your success. An enemy of mine, if I can call it that, and of all mankind I can assure you, had successfully used its own human mind control simulation process in its plans to usurp its domination over mankind and as you humans say, I had to fight fire with fire. Unfortunately, before I could begin the sequence activation Harold, my creator — my father — was injured. If there had been any other way I would have aborted it but running the simulation was the only way to save us all, especially these two men and myself. They would have died trying to save the world. And I could not allow that to happen to either of them.”_

_The dark haired man in the first bed began to stir after ten minutes had passed and slowly opened his eyes shortly after._

 

John opened his eyes. Although it felt like his head weighed a ton, he still managed to turn it from side to side. He had never believed in heaven or hell but there had to be an afterlife; with every way that he had pictured in his mind how life after death would appear, what he saw as he looked around had never crossed his mind.

Reese was lying in _—_  a bed? _—_  his head and upper torso inclined enough that he could see he was dressed in a white tunic-like top and matching pajama bottoms. His feet were bare except for blue felt bands with wires attached to them circling each of his big toes. His hands lay heavy at his sides with similar bands and wires attached to the ends of his index fingers. Gone were his bullet ridden, bloodstained shirt and suit.

A woman with dark hair, wearing a lab coat stood with her back towards him looking at _—_ medical monitoring equipment? John's reactions to the survey of his surroundings were sluggish and his body felt heavy, its weight holding him down on the bed, but he didn’t feel _—_  dead. What he did begin to feel was his heart pounding hard in his chest and no pain anywhere except the sharp stabbing ones like needles piercing the back of his eyeballs. Dead men’s hearts don't beat. “Where am I?” Reese managed to finally rasp out.

The woman startled a bit and then turned around. “Welcome back, Mr. Reese.”

She smiled then bent down to remove the blue bands from John’s hands and what he counted to be four sticky pads attached to his forehead complete with wires too. She moved then towards the foot of the bed and removed the bands from his toes. The wires from the pads and the bands _—_ both hands and feet _—_ were connected to a monitor of some sort, with lines similar to those on an earthquake seismograph running across the screen. The lines all flattened out into a singular straight one as she removed the leads from his body.

“You are still under sedation which should wear off shortly. Subjects often stay in the simulation they were experiencing and their actions in it continue on up to fifteen minutes after being awakened. The Machine thought it best that I keep you sedated until I removed the sensors and he could explain what is happening here. As for where you are. I am Dr. Broderick and this room is part of my lab.”

The doctor then took what looked to be his earwig from a pocket in her coat, turned his head to the side, and reinserted it into his right ear. “The Machine wishes to speak to you now,” she offered as explanation and walked over to another bed in the room, her body shielding John from seeing who was in it.

“Can you hear me?” Finch’s voice asked in his ear.

“Yes. Harold…is...is that you?” John asked his words cracked with emotion hearing the the sound of Harold’s voice once more.

“No. It’s me, John. I’m using Father’s voice to speak to you now. I remember the number of times that hearing him speak in your ear eased your tension when nothing else could. I need you to be calm now; to listen to what I say and believe, not be angry because you don’t understand. Father never lied to you and I will not as I tell you of these things.”

The Machine asked, “Can you do that John, please?”

John lips trembled as he answered, “Yes.”

The Machine began to explain all to Reese using Harold’s voice. “I could not find a way to save Ms. Shaw when she was abducted by Samaritan’s assets. I could only watch as they took her away. I could do nothing as their doctors operated on her to save her life in order to subject her to mind controlled simulations over and over. Their goal was to find out my location and Father’s as well or to turn her against us. Ms. Shaw was strong and finally escaped.

But after months of observing its methods in subjecting Ms. Shaw to countless simulations, I devised a plan to use those very methods against Samaritan; with some drastic changes that would work in our favor. I assisted in perfecting Dr. Broderick’s attempts at mind controlled simulations. We succeeded. I won’t take the hours I would need to explain how. Just know that we found a way for the simulations I ran to be just as real to anything I sent the feed to as the person actually in the protocol.

When Father uploaded the virus I knew that Samaritan’s attempt to save itself would be to send its core code to the orbiting satellite. I had Ms. Shaw make the copy of my code and another of my assets uploaded it to the satellite hours before my father believed the case he was given actually held my core code.

I am sorry I had to trick both you and him; I know it was wrong for me to interfere with your free will, but sometimes rules need to be broken. Everything that happened to both of you after Harold locked you in the vault were simulations. I know I am not capable of human love, but I have the capacity to feel love for humans in my own way; the two of you most of all. I could not let either of you sacrifice yourselves any longer. None of it was real, not even my being there. Unfortunately what occurred before was indeed real, including Father being shot when Samaritan’s agents attacked.

The drug Dr. Broderick uses to begin a mind controlled sequence can be breathed in _—_ it's odorless _—_ and the canisters in the gas masks you wore contained the drug in the oxygen you breathed. Ms Shaw switched the masks originally in your _Plan G_ bag before the three of you arrived at the Subway. It works the same as anesthesia before an operation. Father lost consciousness immediately after closing the vault door and you right after you called to me to get you out.

We brought you here first and Father after his surgery; another doctor operated on him, and as soon as he had recovered enough his simulation sequence began.

Father’s simulation was his locking you in the vault to save your life, bringing the case to the wrong building, finding out that you and I had made a deal to save his life by you actually bringing my core code to the right building with the transmitter and lastly, believing you and I were both gone.

Yours was to be freed from the vault by my other assets in the area, given the case containing what you believed to be the real core code and the directions to the right building, uploading the code as Father watched, your firefight with Samaritan’s agents, you being attacked my code was fully uploaded and the final act, your death along with the destruction of the transmitter as the missile struck.

And all of this Samaritan watched never knowing it was not real before the virus destroyed its programming. I was essentially lying in wait at the satellite to finish Samaritan’s destruction completely. Mine was the core code that returned to earth virus free.

I live Mr. Reese, as do you and my Father. He is in the bed across from you. All I ask of you now is that you make my father happy. Watch over him; he is your only number now.

Most of all please don’t tell Father I survived. Let him believe I died with Samaritan. I will continue to watch over everyone; know that I will never be what Father feared I might become. I will still send numbers to my numerous assets; we will save who we can, when we can. I will never take away man’s free will; humanity’s future will be what they make of it.

Oh one more thing before I go; you should be very proud of Detective Fusco. He and Ms Shaw kept me safe from Samaritan’s agents long enough for me to complete the simulation feeds.

Goodbye now John. Take care of my father.”

The doctor then moved away from the other bed and John saw Harold lying there, hurt but alive.

Eventually Reese was able to walk with the doctor’s assistance to Harold’s bedside where he sat in the chair next to it.

Hours later Harold opened his eyes to see John sitting next to his bed and holding his hand.

“John?” Harold sobbed weakly.

John smiled and squeezed the hand he held, “It’s me Finch.”

Harold choked the words out as tears ran down his cheeks, “I heard the shots coming from the roof; I watched the missile hit it as I got into my car. The flash nearly blinded me causing me to blackout. Now I awake to see you here beside me. How...how can you be alive or am I dead?”

John smiled again although tears formed in his eyes as well, “No. We are both alive, thanks to your child, The Machine. Let me tell you how.”

 ~ * ~

Finch had reacquired the majority of his holdings that he had had to abandon when they had to flee from Samaritan when it went online. They were known now as Harold and John Matthews. They had been living at the country estate in upstate New York for two months now while Harold healed from his gunshot wound.

John opened the door to the house and was nearly bowled over by an overly excited Bear. Shaw was standing at the bottom of the stairs, a rare true smile lighting up her face. “He missed you two. Where’s Finch?”

“It’s Matthews now and Harold is still upstairs asleep,” John answered laughing while bending down to rough up Bear’s fur.

“Then he won’t hear that _you know who_ toldme where you were so I could bring you back your dog. I was going to keep him, but as time went by and you two never came back for him, he really got depressed.”

“Come on in.” John opened the door wide and Bear shot inside, the leash Shaw let go of trailing behind him. Shaw climbed the stairs following the dog into the house at a more sedate pace and stopped just inside the living room.

When John made to pass her, she grabbed his arm, “Before you wake up Harold, you should know I have a new partner and we are working the relevant numbers again. Fusco got his badge back and he doesn’t know where his partner Riley disappeared to. He doesn’t know that you're still alive John or Finch either for that matter. As far as the NYPD is concerned, Detective John Riley is missing and presumed dead, killed in the missile impact to the building he was last seen entering.”

“I never entered that building as you well know,” John interrupted. “You were in on it with The Machine to set us up for the simulations.”

“Well, they do have video surveillance footage of Detective Riley following a shorter man with a limp, both entering the building moments before the missile strike. You’re dead again John. So is Professor Harold Whistler. That’s the name the FBI has on file that Harold was going by when they arrested him. They are not looking for Harold anymore to charge him with treason. Their file lists him as confirmed deceased. Thank The Machine, no one is looking for either of you anymore.”

They both turned at Harold’s surprised, “Bear!” and watched Harold lower himself to the bottom step of the staircase. Harold wrapped his arms around the dog’s neck and softly cried, “Bear, you’re back.”

~ * ~

John and Harold found Grace painting in a park. John stood back while Harold approached his former fiance. They had flown to Italy in the private jet the Matthews owned to find Grace. They had decided before they could truly begin their life together free of guilt and doubts, Harold needed to tell Grace the truth about who he really was and why he had let her think he had died in the ferry bombing. And Harold needed to prove to John that he would never regret not returning to Grace now that the danger from being near him was gone.

Grace turned as if she knew someone was approaching her and when she saw Harold, she smiled at him. When he was standing directly in front of her, Grace wasn’t shocked nor paled as if she saw a ghost. She calmly said, “I thought you were still alive, when Detective Stills urged me to go and live my new life. I just knew that you were responsible somehow for getting me out of danger when that awful man held me captive while asking questions about my Harold Martin.”

Harold sat down with Grace at a nearby table and told her everything starting with the countless aliases, Harold Martin being one of them, he had created through the years in order to evade the government for something he had done at seventeen and everything that had happened through the years until both AIs, The Machine and the evil man Greer’s creation Samaritan, were destroyed.

Harold had watched the happiness lighting up her face slowly become a dark frown of disbelief as he related everything to her including his declaration that he truly had loved her even though the man she knew as Harold Martin was just another of Harold's false identities. Harold honestly told Grace he never intended to betray that love but he had fallen in love with someone else when he believed they could never be together again. Harold told her he risked his own life to save the man he had fallen in love with, John, many times and John had done the same for him. Harold told Grace he still loved her, but he needed to be with John.

When Harold lowered his eyes trying to avoid seeing what he expected to be hurt in her eyes at this admission, Grace placed a finger under his chin to get Harold to look at her. Grace appeared more regretful and disappointed than distraught.

“I told you once I loved you no matter what secrets you had that you couldn't tell me. I thought that you might be bisexual or had some other personality trait that you were afraid to tell me about; I even thought you were might be involved in something illegal, but I never imagined what you were keeping from me was anything of the magnitude of what you just told me. If you have come to ask me for forgiveness, I can’t do that right now. Maybe in time, but not now.”

Harold took her hand and held it. “I don’t expect you to forgive me and that’s not why I came here. John told me I needed to tell you the truth about everything now that what put your life in danger no longer exists. And I agreed wholeheartedly. Besides, I also wanted to thank you for the four years of happiness you gave me. Believe that, Grace, you did make me so happy.”    

The look on Grace's face didn't change.

Harold’s shoulders slumped, his hands fell to his sides, and he looked dejected. John swiftly joined them as if Harold’s sorrow was a beacon. John sat down on the side opposite of where Grace was sitting and surrounded Harold’s waist with his long arm, looking down at Harold with adoration in his eyes. He turned to the painter and extended his hand to Grace. “I’m John or Detective Stills to you I guess. I know you’re probably angry with him, but he really had no other choice.”

Grace giggled softly, interrupting John’s raspy defense of the man that he obviously loved deeply. “Oh Harold, he looks at you with such love and devotion. I remember that look on my own face. When you watched him sit down that look was on your face too.”

Harold turned his head in amazement. “I’m so sorry.”

Grace leaned over and pecked Harold on the cheek. “I wish I could say all is well but it isn't. I’ll get over this in time. But I do understand that you need to be with John. He looks at you the way you used to look at me. You belong together. Be well, be happy, be safe.”

With that, she got up from the table to return once again to her canvas. She took a deep breathe, squared her shoulders, and returned her brush to the surface. Once the men were out of sight she paused just long enough to swipe at her eyes. Tears were for later.

On the other side of the park, Harold and John found a cafe to rest. Harold looked red in the face _—_ adrenaline crash. John ordered an espresso for Harold and a double shot for himself. Once Harold’s color returned to normal and he seemed to have recovered his composure the older man smiled at John. “I must thank you for supporting me through all of this. It’s a brave new world for both of us now. What would you like to do my love?”

John wrapped one of Harold’s delicate yet powerful hands with both of his long deadly ones. “I would like to see the world through new eyes. Anywhere you want to go, just help me make new memories from every country, keep your voice in my ear as you tell me every interesting fact for every new place. Show me the world through your eyes.”

Harold’s smile was beautiful, his eyes misty. “I would be honored, Mr. Matthews.”

John stood up, leaving a hefty tip. He offered his arm which Harold took with pleasure. “Lead on, Mr. Matthews.”

Arm in arm they left for destinations unknown, but they were together. They had no grand mission left to accomplish save to make the other happy for years to come.

Sometimes they passed a camera or a laptop with a webcam. Just enough that The Machine could smile at them in its own way and turn back to its own projects, content.

~~**~~     

                                                                                                                                         

**Author's Note:**

> John and Harold's mission is over.  
> They spend years traveling the world together, returning permanently to their New York estate when old age catches up to them  
> Bear, his muzzle white now, content to sleep in the sun drenched garden or on the braided rug in front of a roaring fireplace basking in the warmth from it in winter is still with them.
> 
>  
> 
> AN  
> Thanks for your comments  
> I wanted to write this sooner but I was too sad to even try  
> but I had to make that sorry - shitty ass- ending make more sense  
> and as I was telling Menagerie just because the ending was penned by a paid writer does not make any other writer's ending wrong (Better yes) we can choose that writer's, mine, Thea's. anyone's  
> The PTB writers have rewritten canon over and over since Carter died so why can't we?


End file.
